


Artificial Castling

by Sketched



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 3
Genre: Canon Bending, Multi, Slow Burn, adaptation mutation or starvation, amata/female lone wanderer but very lightly, headcanons, round three baby, will add characters as they appear
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-27
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2020-02-08 11:46:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18622696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sketched/pseuds/Sketched
Summary: Rook is just another employer and Charon is just another gun. But things change, and the world isn’t black and white anymore. Will either of them acknowledge their past in order to move forward?





	1. Fresh Faced

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Adaptation, Mutation, or Starvation](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11456013) by [Sketched](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sketched/pseuds/Sketched). 



> I want to try again. Fallout 3 will always have a special place in my heart, and it seems that I just can't give up on this fic. If you were a fan of Adaptation, Mutation, or Starvation, I want this to be the sorta remake you deserve.  
> I'm keeping the trend of oddly named female leads and agonizing slow burn fics. (fun fact: the first time around her name was Fallyn. I'll bet you whatever image you conjured up of a bad oc named that is exactly what she looked like)  
> I looked at what didn't work last time: the main character being unmotivated and one-dimensional, continuity errors, Charon's backstory not being clear, my heart not being in it toward the end, the end itself being unclear, and only writing it for the smut chapter.  
> I'm ready to start fresh. New main character. New-ish Charon. A notepad document that lists traits/quirks and backstory notes. A main character with more motivation than just Charon. A main character with a bit more flavor. An idea of where I want things to go. I need to finish something; this is for me just as much as it’s for all of y’all. I thank all of my readers, especially those who will stick with me as I stick with myself for this one. 
> 
> Extra bits: I decided to take some artistic liberty in this work and reimagine the Rangers combat armor to be a lot more like winterized combat armor but green. It makes more sense that an organized group would have distinct armor, the idea stems from this mod: https://www.nexusmods.com/fallout3/mods/21738 , so just reference that when I bring up the way the armor is in future chapters

        

_I_

           He’d had enough time to figure out what kind of boss she was. The bad ones were usually bad from the start; he'd heard the deal offered by Ahzrukhal. He had wondered why it was so low, surely a servant of his loyalty was worth more than one life, but nevertheless, she didn't take it. She came back with the money and bought him fair and square. From there, she was in the middle.

Fair seemed to be the best way to describe her, really. She did things by the books, regardless of the accountant. She had visited Underworld multiple times after she refused Ahzrukhal’s alternate offer. A young woman of her pedigree had made a real splash, especially with Snowflake. Whenever he came to buy his Jet, he’d be buzzing about her more than his withdrawals. She was his head of real human hair, warm, talkative, and even better: fast-growing. Gossip about her tainted the air, it was even on the radio. Because of Three-Dog, he knew who she was long before she held his contract.

The girl was odd, either grew up in a vault or merked someone who had. Though, he hadn’t seen a more skilled Pip-Boy user in a long time. He knew she was tough, even with what little he’d seen of her. The day she recruited him was the same day they both became family friends of Reilly’s Rangers. They had the armor to prove it, though Reilly couldn’t find a helmet that fit him.

He still didn’t know a lot of things, though. Where did she come from? Who is the father she’s searching for? What are her goals for him? Why did she take him on to begin with? What’s with her and ghouls?

Though, to him, none of his questions mattered.

He got up, put on his old leather armor, and gently walked downstairs to be greeted by the robot and get breakfast. He remembered the basic orders she gave him when they walked in, “This is your home as much as it is mine, you have full reign of the food and weapons as long as you refill the fridge and replace the ammo you use. Get the caps out of my pack, don’t worry about paying. Do what you have to, eat whenever you’re hungry, but just clean up after yourself.”

So, he took to eating three meals per day and had a snack if he felt dizzy.

Like his previous mornings in Megaton, he cooked, ate, and cleaned up his breakfast in less than six minutes. The fridge looked a bit sparse, and he grabbed the old canvas bag.

He opened her door silently. She was twisted up in her blankets, a wash of fair skin and green fabric. He couldn’t help but list her vulnerable points in his head as he pulled the exact number of caps out of her bag.

_Exposed chest, weapon at least five seconds from her hand, mobility obstructed by bedding, blind left side._

By now he was sure he would never use any of the information he subconsciously collected.

           The sound of the front door closing pulled her from sleep. She blinked a few times before she remembered and reached for the eyepatch on her nightstand. After detangling herself from her blanket, she made her way to the bathroom and carried out the same morning routine she had in the vault. Pee, bathe, dry off, brush teeth, brush hair.

Since the Reilly’s Rangers job, she’d been taking things slow. Maybe it was because she wanted Charon to get acclimated, maybe because she’d been going really fast since Paradise Falls, maybe because she hit a wall in the search for her father.

“Project Purity.” She said to her own reflection. Her father’s life’s work? Why didn’t she know about it? Why didn’t anyone tell her anything?

Pieces started to fit together when she picked her first wasteland lock and found her way into Moriarty’s terminal. She knew she wasn’t like everyone else. Too short, too reactive, better with screws than computer keys, a puzzle piece with only one wrong-shaped peg.

But until recently she felt just as wrong-shaped in the wastes. She remembered her first night here, sitting in Moriarty’s Saloon with all sorts of questions swimming in her head. Gob came out of the murk behind the bar as Moriarty stalked upstairs for the night, smiling and shit talking under his breath.

 

_She looked up from her hands and saw nothing short of a nightmare. She visibly recoiled in shock._

_He too flinched back a bit, and the two of them stared at each other like a dog seeing its reflection for the first time._

_“Uh, smoothskin, do you need something? A drink, maybe? Anything? Anything at all?” He asked nervously._

_She blinked a few times, and swallowed her shock before replying, “I- Um, yeah, may I have a drink?”_

_He looked like he was waiting for more, but she just stared back at him. “Wait... you're not going to hit me? Yell at me? Not even berate me a little bit?”_

_“Why would I do that?” She asked._

_His brow furrowed. “You’re another Vault Dweller, aren’t you?”_

_She nodded._

_“My name’s Gob. I’m a ghoul, Well, not all of us got the chance to hole up in a nice cushy Vault when the bombs fell. A bunch of us got stuck out here in the world and got a full-on blast of heat and radiation turned us into a pack of walking corpses. Near as I can tell, we age slower than you. A lot slower. There are even a few Ghouls that were alive during the war. Of course, with a face like ground Brahmin meat, you can imagine that folks don't take too kindly to us.” He explained._

_“Oh. Are there a lot of you out in the wasteland?”_

_“Depends on where you go. There are such things as feral ghouls, the name tells you what you need to know. But in general, I’d say that you smoothskins outnumber ghouls like me.”_

_She went quiet and played with her thumbs a bit._

_He bent down, pulled up a bottle of whiskey and a Nuka Cola, and poured her his simplest drink. “Mister Moriarty would have me charge forty, but I’ll give it to ya for thirty.”_

_She pulled out thirty dollars from her backpack, and Gob looked at her like she was stupid again. “You’ve got no clue, huh?”_

_“I know how to do basic math. This is thirty.” She said, gesturing at him with her money._

_“Thirty caps, sweetheart.” He said, taking her money. “If you’ve got any more pre-war tender, give it here.” He added, counting out her change._

_She handed him the rest of it, and he gave her back 192 caps in three rolls and some loose ones. “Cap rolls come in all different wraps and sizes; we tell ‘em apart by length. One hundred, fifty, and twenty-five.” He said, gesturing to each respectively. They were rolled up in different substances, one in aluminum, one in thin plastic, and one a mix of paper and cardboard. “If you’re a good barkeep, you can tell when they’re not real caps by weight. Don’t try to screw anyone, especially not Mister Moriarty.”_

_He pushed the drink toward her. She sipped it, focused hard on not recoiling from the albeit watered down whiskey and kept thinking._

_“D-Don’t you tell Mister Moriarty I gave you a discount, okay?” He said, suddenly back to his previous apprehensiveness._

_“As long as you don’t tell him that I broke into his terminal.” She replied quietly._

_The ghoul’s eyes went big. “Fair enough, smoothskin.”_

 

They got to talking, as she slowly drank her single whiskey and cola, Gob did a lot of listening and even smiled at one point when he talked about his adoptive mother Carol.

One thing he said stuck with her. She could hear it clearly in her head as she stared at her face in the still bathwater. _“The Wasteland is a cruel mistress. She needs to take something from you before you can even think about conquering her.”_


	2. Amnesty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rook meets resistance and her youthful temper needs to be tamed.

 

_II_

 

Jenny Stahl jumped when she first noticed him standing there. “ _Jesus!”_

He stared back at her blankly.

“I’m sure you’re here for Rook’s regular order?” She said, only taking a second to regain her composure.

He nodded curtly and placed the rolls of caps on the table. She didn’t check them; she knew they weren’t filled with scrap. Rook was one of her favorite customers, especially since she scared off Mr. Burke. He put her off more than Jericho sometimes. Charon wasn’t her favorite, but never saying anything was better than catcalling her.

She packed up the food while humming quietly.

It smelled like winter already, and if Charon’s bad knee was right, it was going to snow sometime soon.

He felt a gentle brush against his arm and looked down to see the familiar top of his employer’s head. “I’ll pay extra for any Sugar Bombs you have in stock.” She said. Rook wasn’t wearing any armor, just the thick jumpsuit he saw on the clothesline yesterday. It made him twitchy, knowing she could be opened like a Mutfruit at a moment’s notice.

Jenny didn’t look up from her packing. “I know, they’re in the bag.”

“How’s Leo?” She asked.

“He’s fine. Well, as fine as he can be right now. He got back on the junk a little while after you left." She sighed. "He broke when Moriarty offered and we had to lock him in the bathroom for a few days, but he’s up and walking around the house again. I just… hope he doesn’t go back to that bar when we give him more freedom.” She replied, handing Rook the bag.

Rook hummed in sympathetic agreement and handed the bag to Charon as she turned to say, “I’m going to go run an errand, go throw— er, _put_ all this in the fridge for me.” She said, remembering the last time she used slang with him.

Charon nodded and took the bag gently.

           As she closed the door to Moriarty’s Saloon, she could still feel the late autumn breeze on her damp hair.

“Morning, Rook. What do you need?” Gob asked as he cleaned out a glass. His face lit up as she walked in, but when she looked back at him, she noticed that one of his eyes was nearly swollen shut.

She betrayed her shock, and Gob said, “I, uh, fell.”

She was already on him, one palm flat on the bar and the other cupping his face while he squirmed half-heartedly. “Do you even have a Stim on it?”

He shook his head and his eyes stayed trained on the stairs. Why did she bother asking, he’d have to pay for a Stim. She pulled out one of hers and applied it gently as Gob fussed about getting caught.

“Why did you come in, anyway?” The ghoul asked.

“To tell off your boss.” She replied as she kept assessing his face.

Gob squirmed out of her loose hold and she leaned back from the bar as familiar heavy footfalls met the stairs.

“Well now, if it ain't our local terror. You behave yourself this time, you hear?” Moriarty said as he strode down the stairs and toward his office.

She grabbed his bicep as he passed her, and the cocky smile vanished from his face. “You’ve got a lot of nerve, lass.” He said.

“And so do you, selling Jet to Leo Stahl.”

“Since when is a bar not allowed to oblige a payin’ customer?”

“It’s got nothing to do with money and you know it. You knew he was trying to get clean, and you knew exactly where the new caps in your hand came from.”

“Aye, that wasn’t me. Gob’s the one that gave him the chems an’ took his caps.”

Gob flinched and expected her to turn to him, but she replied without skipping a beat, “And Gob needs your word to sell the hard stuff, your slave carrying out your business doesn’t make it not your business.”

Moriarty cocked an eyebrow. “Either way, what the hell are you going to do about it?” He asked, jerking his arm out of her grasp.

Whether she liked it or not, Moriarty was a big player in Megaton. The rich tend to be immune to justice even in the apocalypse, vigilante or otherwise. Besides, she was only carrying a 10mm smg with half a clip and didn’t have any sort of armor on. And so, there was a pause. Gob’s hand stilled inside the glass, Rook’s arm stayed half-outstretched, even Nova froze with one foot on the floor upstairs.

The cocky smile returned to his face. “ _Hmph,”_ he made a little noise and leaned in closer as he walked by to say, “ _Now get your tight ass out of my bar before I get you run out of town.”_

           Charon heard the door close as he finished placing the last Nuka-Cola in its respective fridge. He knew where she liked her things, but he wasn’t ecstatic about doing domestic duties. Though, he didn’t have to stock the pantry very often.

She tore through the first floor and briskly walked by him with fire in her eye and the scent of stress sweat on her skin. She had the jumpsuit unzipped to her navel before she reached the doorframe to her room. He heard the fabric hit the wall and then the rustling of her armor.

“Shall I join you once again?” He asked.

“Yes, go put your good armor on.” She said, turning to him as she fiddled with her belt.

They finished dressing at the same time, and she grabbed her shotgun as he followed her out the door.

A light rain, almost mist, had started falling. As they descended the stairs and strode through the center of town, Jenny Stahl shot out from behind her outdoor counter.

“Whoa whoa whoa! What the hell are you doing?!” She asked, grabbing Rook’s arm. Charon drew his weapon but let it rest at his hip.

Rook didn’t answer and betrayed nothing from behind her helmet.

Jenny pulled her closer. “If you try to kill him, what happens to you? What happens to _him?”_ she asked, gesturing loosely to Charon.

Rook looked away from her, up to the balcony where Moriarty leaned against a railing in the morning fog, smoking and smiling smugly. It was still early, few people were out, the sun was only half-risen and it was near-silent because Cromwell wasn’t even preaching yet.

“Yknow what, I’ll tell you. The entire down descends upon you the minute you hit those stairs; you die. Who gets Charon? _Colin Mori-fucking-arty.”_

“And if I succeed?” Rook asked, not looking away from her target.

“You get hanged, Charon goes to Lucas Simms, he patrols this town for the rest of his life, _and you know how they treat ghouls around here,”_ Jenny said, emphasizing the last part as much as she could.

She ripped her arm from Jenny’s grasp and turned to walk out the front gates. Charon followed, and Jenny was the one to look up and see Moriarty flick his cigarette off into the town square with a big smile on his face.


	3. Wasteland Survival Guide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A stretch of the legs and trigger fingers for the sake of literature.

 

_III_

 

            “Well, here it is.” She said, entering the coordinates into her Pip-Boy. The “R” on the sign was tilted, but the facility was the one. “And if this is RobCo,” she turned around, “then _that’s_ Tenpenny Tower.”

The building cast a long shadow, and the mild mystery of the motives within made it hard to push out of one’s mind. But she focused on the task at hand.

“I’ve been working on this book for a long time, Charon.” She said as she pulled open the heavy door.

“I have not noticed you writing.” The ghoul replied as he surveyed the main room.

It was dry and dust-coated. The Protectrons that stood on display made him tense, even though they were clearly powered down.

“That’s because I’m not the one writing it, I just do the research. Moira Brown does the writing. She’s sent me all over the wasteland, in fact, she’s the indirect reason that I first ended up in Underworld.” She replied, her words echoing throughout the empty building as they searched for the mainframe.

They soon slipped into their regular cooperative silence. They worked in tandem without saying a word, when Rook turned one way Charon turned the other. If she fired for the head, he fired for the legs. When they first fought side by side in the Statesman Hotel, it was an instant click.

Rook was a lot more inexperienced with her shotgun than he, and she wasted no time giving him full permission to correct her when needed. Gentle posture-correcting nudges and grumbled advice was what she received, but her improvement was palpable.

The Radroaches posed no threat, and as they entered the mainframe room Charon stomped one with an expression more bored than usual.

“Well, that was easier than I thought it would be.” She mumbled as the processor widget clicked into place.

Suddenly, alarms flared up and the sound of Protectron pods opening echoed throughout the once-silent halls.

“Nevermind.” She sighed as a red laser missed her head by inches. She fired three rounds into its head and Charon finished it off.

As they worked their way through the building, Charon blew off the firing units on the Protectrons’ hands before aiming anywhere else. It didn’t take Rook long to catch on, and as she beat him to disabling one, they exchanged glances.

They left the building with their armor covered in laser burns, and Rook was trying to rub soot off of her helmet’s visor. The sun was low in the sky, and she looked to Tenpenny Tower one last time before starting the familiar trek back home.

Charon followed her gaze. He’d heard plenty about that place from Quinn.

_“You’re a lot older than I am, if you have information on something and feel like it’s important, please tell me.”_

“Would you like some information about Tenpenny Tower?” The ghoul offered.

She looked surprised. “Yes, please.”

“They do all their supply trading through caravans that come to them, and they pay extra for the convenience. The building is owned and managed by one Allistair Tenpenny, who has a great wealth of currently unknown origin. They also do not allow ghouls within the walls and have issues with a certain group of them led by Roy Phillips.” He explained as they walked.

“Is the group of ghouls trying to trade with them or move in?”

“I am unsure.”

Rook looked even more thoughtful for the rest of their walk.

            When they arrived home, she dug around in her bag and procured a bar of familiar-looking soap. “You don’t really smell, but does this stuff actually work?”

It was Tulip’s own special brand of Ghoul Soap: infused with Abraxo and toothpaste along with some Mutfruit oil extract to soften the skin. She’d bought it at a discount in case she ran into something particularly awful-smelling in the wastes, but now she had a new idea.

“I have used it before. The scent lasts an average of three or so days, five to seven on a human.” He replied.

“Would you mind bathing with it tonight?”

He shook his head and held out his hand.

As the water ran in the room next to hers, Rook looked over the odd love letters she’d received over the past couple of weeks. The second most recently had the first mention of the name Tenpenny Tower and is what had piqued her interest.

 _“ Beloved,_  
The pain of our separation is unbearable. I miss you terribly.  
I cherish the memory of our brief time together.  
Send me a letter, won't you? Send it to Tenpenny Tower. They'll be sure to get it to me.  
Oh, be patient a little while longer, my little songbird. Soon we will be free of our cages, and our love will soar to the heavens above!  
  
Yours very truly,  
Burke “

She hadn’t thought about him until Moriarty handed her the first one, saying _“You flirt with a desperate man once, and he’ll take it like an accepted marriage proposal, lass.”_

If she could find a way in, she could maybe get to the bottom of why the man in charge wanted to blow up her home. She sighed. There were a lot of things she wanted to get to the bottom of.

She tossed the notes back onto her desk and grabbed her coat off the back of her chair. She was wearing her old vault suit, bullet holes and all.

The air was biting cold, and the sun was almost out of the sky altogether. Within the last week, the temperature must have dropped twenty degrees on average. She wondered what deep winter would be like.

Moira nearly leaped over her counter with excitement when Rook told her the research was finished.

“Oh, it's great! Why, with the information here, we'll save hundreds of lives. Maybe even thousands! I'll share these with the traders, and soon, everyone will know about the Wasteland Survival Guide! But first, here! The very first copy of our book goes to you. I couldn't have done it without you, my Wasteland survival expert!” She said, hugging Rook awkwardly over the counter.

The book felt heavier than it did initially as she closed the door. She looked to the Saloon but couldn’t bring herself to walk any closer.

            Charon hadn’t shed skin in decades, but that never stopped him from waiting for the bathtub to drain just in case. The scent of his own skin was a bit overpowering for his nose, but all of his senses were easily bothered.

He switched back into his leather armor and tossed his towel into the laundry as he strode to his sleeping space. An old mattress on an old bed frame. She had him pick the place, and he chose the side of the upstairs catwalk opposite the door to the house.

She gave him a footlocker, but the only things he kept in it was a few bottles of irradiated water and extra ammunition.

It was nice to have a place for his things, it was nice to have a home, and it was especially nice to have the option to sleep, but Charon would never take advantage of any of it. He didn’t have to sleep. He didn’t need a place for his things outside of his backpack. He especially didn’t need four walls and clean skin to survive.

But when Rook came back home, he couldn’t quite stuff down the feeling of comfort she brought with her.


	4. Special Treatment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rook is faced with a story similar to the one back home, and makes some strong impressions on the new residents of Tenpenny Tower.

 

_IV_

            “Look, Ma’am, I don’t care who you know and how many caps you have, the ghoul is _not_ allowed in.” Chief Gustavo said sternly.

“I guess you don’t care about me solving your ghoul problem then?” Rook countered.

“I think you’re right, and I also think you need to get the hell—” Well now hold on just a minute Gustavo.” The security head was interrupted by a particularly old man in a red hunting outfit. “Miss, does your name happen to be Rook?”

Rook looked him up and down. “Maybe. Why?”

“A former associate, Mister Burke, talked about a girl with that name quite obsessively before his disappearance from my staff. She was also the reason he failed to complete the most important thing I’ve ever asked of him.” He said, his tone dipping to something more venomous toward the end.

“We talked briefly, and then he just left Megaton. He sent me a few letters, but I have no idea where he went.” Rook admitted.

“Hm. Gustavo, if the girl is willing to help with our little problem, I see no issue with allowing her… _companion_ in. Would you inform them of the situation and sent out to deal with it as soon as possible?” Tenpenny ordered, turning back toward his tower without room for Gustavo to argue.

Gustavo glared at her but did as he was told.

            _Ferals._ Rook’s least favorite. Terrible-smelling, quick-paced, and all too human. Though, their humanness made them soft.

Another chorus of hollow screams echoed through the train tunnel. She jumped to the side as one lunged at her and ended it as Charon took care of the next that came into view.

The third ducked and took a shot to the side as it slammed into Rook, knocking her down and pinning her as it bit into the thick armor on her shoulder.

Charon’s arm slid under its chest and he heaved it off of her and into the opposite wall before shooting it in the head. She sat up and was ready enough to shoot the last ghoul in tandem with Charon.

He extended a hand. She took it and thanked him as he pulled her up. “You are entitled to my services in combat. There is no need to thank me.” He said.

“And you’re entitled to my respect.” She replied.

His head snapped toward her with a look she’d never seen before. Confusion, maybe?

As quickly as it came, it faded, and his gaze returned to the dank tunnel they were walking through.

The walls of the tunnel were freezing to the touch, despite the daytime temperature still soaring into the seventies. Wasteland weather was nothing like what she’d read about in the Vault, in her books the high/low temperature stayed in a relative of twenty degrees through the seasons. She had read the draft of the weather chapter in the Wasteland Survival Guide, which mentioned that it was common to get frostbite and heatstroke in the same day during the change between the hot and cold season. Spring, Summer, Autumn, and Winter were all but lost to wastelanders, there were Summer and Winter with a few weeks called the In-Betweens. The cold season only lasted three months, but it was so bitter that even Super Mutants hunkered down. Which made it prime time for city scavenging and caravan trading.

But the schedule of the coming months was the last thing on her mind as she kicked the shins out from under ferals and watched Charon manhandle them like chew toys.

Her flashlight illuminated something interesting. “ _The revolution starts here.”_ She mumbled, following the arrow without thinking.

Charon still didn’t know her plan, but he doubted that they were on their way to slaughter a bunch of non-ferals. She had that look in her eye, the same one he saw when she strode out of the house ready to gut Moriarty.

“You there! Put your weapons away, and come over here. No funny business unless you want to get shot!” A voice called out from above.

Rook paused but did as she was told, and nodded to Charon to do the same as she held up her hands.

“What’s your business?” The ghoul asked. His face was shrouded by the darkness above, but she had a feeling he'd be easy to reason with.

“I was hired by Allistair Tenpenny’s guard dog to kill all of you.” She said evenly.

The ghoul looked her up and down. “Figures. So, if you haven’t yet, is this just a mind game or are you planning on switching up on the old bigot?”

She smiled. “The latter. My name’s Rook, this is Charon. Are you the leader around here?”

“Michael Masters, and no.” He said, lowering but not holstering his weapon. “Come on up, I’ll take you to him.”

As the two of them followed him, he continued to explain. “Roy Phillips is his name. I've been stomping around with him and his gang of misfits. Roy's a no-nonsense, take no prisoners kinda guy. He heard about this Tenpenny asshole, and now he's trying to get us in that tower. He's hatching some kind of plan to kill all those bigot bastards.” Masters looked back at her, “Believe it or not, I used to vacation there, back when I had all my skin.”

When he led them to the part of the tunnels the ghouls lived in, he seemed to disappear into the walls. Behind a corner, through a tunnel. It unnerved her, but Rook pressed forward.

The first ghoul she ran into from there was a painfully timid woman who simply rasped, “Oh. Hello. I'm Bessie Lynn. I... I don't think you should be down here. Did you talk to Roy?”

“Not yet, but it’s part of the plan.” Rook replied, breezing through the room toward her goal.

“I hope you know what you're doing. You two could get in a lot of trouble by coming around uninvited!” She said, calling out as quietly as one could, to people who had already left the room.

“Okay, who the fuck are you and why are you in here?” Roy Phillips growled, pointing an assault rifle at her nose. He, like Masters, seemed to come straight out of the bricks to their left.

Charon raised an arm, but Rook caught his hand before he could smack the barrel away. Phillips cocked a bare eyebrow.

“I’m the newest person Tenpenny hired to kill you. But I have no interest in doing that, instead, I’d like to work out a compromise that gets you in that tower.” Rook said.

“I don’t compromise kid; I already got a plan. They think I’m a monster. I’ll show them the real monsters! We'll unleash our feral brethren on them; all those bigoted sons-of-bitches will get torn apart. Trouble is getting past the damn subway access door. You see, there's some kind of escape door that leads from the Tenpenny basement to the subway tunnels. There must be some way to get that open.” He said, almost talking to himself toward the end.

“What if I can get you in that tower diplomatically?” Rook asked, still staring at him over his gun.

“But by all means, try talking to Tenpenny if you like. But it won't work. Then we'll do it my way.” He replied.

“Who said I’m doing anything anybody’s way?” She replied.

Charon’s entire body was tense, Rook could feel him nearly vibrating against her hand.

Phillips smirked and lowered his gun from her face while freeing a hand. “Fair enough. If you get results, which you won’t, we can discuss it from there. Or I’ll just kill you if that’s what it comes to.”

Rook smirked and took his offer of a handshake.

            “I'll be damned. Really? Good job kid! I was willing to unleash the Ferals and kill all those bigots. Guess I don't _have_ to now.” Phillips said, suddenly almost excited. He stood and patted her on the shoulder before he started digging through a footlocker on the other side of the room.

Masters leaned over to her. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Roy that cheerful without someone else’s blood on his hands.”

Phillips handed her a leathery sack that stunk of Abraxo and death. “Here's a little something for your troubles, it'll help you deal with our Feral brethren if you meet any.”

She turned it over and it was suddenly a mask. “Oh, thank you.” She said. She meant it.

“How did you manage to convince Tenpenny?” Masters asked openly.

“He told me that all I had to do was convince his tenants, and I did.” Rook explained.

“Bullshit. There’s no way that you smooth-talked bigots into tolerating us.” Phillips spat.

She looked at him. “You’re right. But I did smooth-talk a few into leaving.”

“Did the big guy help with your… “convincing”?” He asked, using his fingers as air quotes around the last word.

“He stood there and looked tough. It made some people feel better about ghouls and some more scared of me.” She replied.

Charon said nothing but continued to stand there and look tough.

            Allistair Tenpenny sat on his balcony, looking over the wasteland. The ghouls had moved in and brought a few friends, the dust and quiet horror of the older residents had settled, and the sun lowered on the horizon.

The door opened quietly, and he breathed in. One of them had come for him, he was sure of it.

But the footsteps behind him were soft, and a familiar voice asked him, “What do you think?”

“Rook, my dear. It’s exactly as I had predicted.” He said, closing his eyes and settling into his chair.

She leaned against the wall next to him, she left the double doors open for fear of leaving herself open to an attack. She wasn’t sure if she could take him, even if he was old, and she had come alone.

“Is that good?” She asked.

            He was tense, silent, and Masters feared that he might be gripping his glass hard enough to shatter it. Rook had to fight with him a bit to get him to stay behind while she went upstairs.

“So, what’s the deal with you and her?” The older ghoul asked.

“She is my employer.” Charon replied.

“How much do you get paid?”

“I am bound to whoever holds my contract. Its terms were made long ago, and I will work to repay it until my employer deems the debt is paid in full.”

“So, you’re a slave?” Masters asked, a bit surprised. He didn’t think Rook seemed like a slaver.

“Slaves can be freed by the whim of their owner. I am far from a slave.” Charon replied.

_“Mmhmm.”_ Masters said, perplexed. He simply sipped his drink and started a conversation with the ghoul sitting on his other side.

 

_“Oh. Then you’re free. You’re done. I’m repaid.” She said._

_“Releasing me from the contract requires the code word.” Charon retorted._

_“What’s the code word?”_

_“I do not know.”_

_“How can I find it?”_

_“I do not know.”_

 

            “Let’s just say I would not have given my word if I thought you could pull it off.” Tenpenny said.

“Why? The ghouls are peaceful. Everyone here is fine.” Rook said.

Tenpenny smiled. “I know that my time draws near. I’m sure you’ll have the same feeling one day. You think you have saved me from erroneous ways, but in truth, you have killed me.”

As he finished speaking, a gnarled hand drew a knife across his throat.

Rook cried out in surprise and jumped back as Tenpenny gurgled. She drew her gun, and its sights landed on none other than Roy Phillips.

“Whoa, kid! I thought you expected me!” Phillips said, also stepping backward.

“N-no!” Rook stammered. “Why the hell would you think that?!”

“You left the door open and you were distracting him. I was thinking you were getting ready to slaughter the rest of these bigots too.” He explained.

She crossed the gap between them in a single stride as she holstered her gun and grabbed him by the shirt collar. “If you kill _a single goddamn one_ of those people, I will personally rip your spine out of your ass, you hear me? Nobody was supposed to die here, not even _him!"_

Phillips smirked. “If you think a little threat is going to keep me from what I want you’re damn wrong.”

She smacked the knife out of his hands and whipped around to shove him against the wall next to the doors. The blade slid between the pillars of the railing and off the balcony. He was wide-eyed, surprised by how something so little could overpower him so quickly, but he pushed her off. She stepped back in front of him but kept her arms down.

_“I help you; you help me. It’s not a threat, it’s a warning.”_ She said through her teeth.

Part of him was unsure for once. “Fine.” He said, sounding confident as ever. “I’ll leave your smoothskins alone, as long as they behave.” He spat, shoving her further away from him.

She didn’t falter. “Clean this up.”

“Yeah, right.” He grumbled, following her out to get the Mr. Handy from the other suite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BONUS SCENE I:  
> The duffle bag Roy had left with was lighter now, and the sweat on his skin cooled off as the sun set to his left. He picked up his knife and wiped away the sand that had mixed with Tenpenny's blood. It was getting colder, but that meant that soon the disturbed dirt would freeze.
> 
> Not that he had to hide what he'd done from anyone smart enough to find the spot he'd hid the bodies in. Masters had raised a glass to him as they passed in the hallway, and Bessie Lynn was sooner to grow another epidermis than spill even a minor secret. He wouldn't have bothered to hide the corpses, honestly, he would've strung them up on the main gate if it were up to him. But something about Rook rang dead serious, and part of him thought she might enact her promise over even Gustavo. Though, Phillips had never bothered to listen to threats before. Not when they came from his supervisors, not when they came from Raiders, and especially not when it came to a nineteen-year-old vault dweller. 
> 
> It was a sort of compromise, he didn't plan to kill any of the other smoothskins. Especially not the useful ones, like the nice old woman that handed him a glass of iced tea when he walked back into the tower, despite his now empty bag that smelled of coppery rot and the fresh dirt all over his armor. He'd give Rook their safety, but as a return favor. The same way he held onto Bessie Lynn, as a favor to her. She would never make it on her own, you can't stutter away a Deathclaw. 
> 
> Though, he did sleep with his arms wrapped tightly around Bessie Lynn every night.


	5. Pecking Order

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keeping up with ties in Paradise Falls.

 

_V_

            Charon disliked Paradise Falls. Too many smells, too many sounds, too many potential threats. Gunfire from somewhere to his left, mumbling between the slavers to their right, eyes all over his back, and the distinct scent of misery hiding under roasting Brahmin. 

Winter had come quickly and frozen out many of the places they visited, but the slavers seemed to be as active as ever. Fires adorned every pile of junk and flickered in the glazed eyes of their captives. He stuck close to Rook, concealing most of her footprints in the light snow with his own half out of coincidence.

The slaver leaning against the front of Lock and Load awarded her with a curt nod as she opened the door and glared at Charon as they walked inside.

“I’m sure Eulogy would pay top dollar for that one.” Pronto joked with a warm smile as the door closed behind them.

“Ha. Funny.” Rook said, heaving her weapons onto the table.

“I’m sure you’d like to rent a spare set of armor for your day here?” He asked, already looking over her beat-up shotgun.

“Why, so you can jerk off to the smell of it later?” She asked with a smile of her own.

He snorted. “Good one. Does your new friend need anything fixed up?” He said, tossing the combat armor he knew fit her on the table.

Rook looked back at Charon and raised her eyebrows.

“I do my own repairs unless ordered otherwise.” The ghoul replied.

“I’ll take any leftover shotgun and SMG parts then.” She added, sweeping her replacement armor off the counter and sauntering off to change in the back room.

            “Ah, Rook.” Eulogy said, interrupting the man he was previously conversing with. “What can Eulogy Jones do for you today, dearie?”

At the mention of her name the slaver with his back to the two of them tensed. Charon stepped closer to Rook.

“I’m not here for a favor. Just thought I’d check in.” She replied.

The slaver between them turned to look at her. Charon noticed two things: his nose was cocked off to one side, and the way he glared at the ghoul’s employer.

“Rook.” He said, venomously.

 

_“You don’t look like you belong here, miss. First time?” He asked, leaning over her, one hand on the wall, one hand on his gun, both eyes on her chest._

_Rook looked up at him. “I think I’ve been here enough to earn a place.” Her tone was hard, but fear gleamed in her eyes._

_He laughed coldly. “Doing what? I haven’t seen anything of yours in the pens,” his eyes met hers for the first time, “but maybe I want to.”_

She looked through him.

Eulogy sucked his teeth. “ _Tsk_ , I wish you two would get along more smoothly.” He lamented.

 

_She remembered the pain, the white flash as her head hit the wall. His rough hands positioning her torso, the way his hips felt pressing against the back of her thighs, his breath on her neck as he told her not to move, the gleam of the knife now held next to her left eye._

_He pressed her against the ground, his hand moved to hold the back of her neck. His knee pushed her left leg outward, her eyes refused to focus, and the world spun as he rasped in her ear and a cold breeze blew against the two of them._

_She dimly remembered his hand between her legs, and when the knife moved away from her face, she felt a familiar cold adrenaline shoot through her veins. With her mind still clouded, she thrashed backward violently and felt his cheekbone collide with the back of her head. Things she didn’t remember flitted in and out of her vision._

_She pulled herself forward, but he was faster than her and grabbed her leg. He twisted it sharply and she rolled onto her back out as he lunged forward._

_She let out a scream before he could get his hand back around her throat, the flood of information from somewhere deep in her head wasn’t stifled even a fraction._

_Her father. The back room of the clinic. The glint of the scalpel, the prick of the needle, the lights dimming even though she didn’t hear the light switch_ click _. Muffled voices from somewhere deep in her skull._

Rook cocked an eyebrow. “Do I look like the forgiving type?” She asked gently.

Eulogy smirked, the cold amusement in his eyes all too recognizable. “I guess that’s what I like about you,”

 

_She didn’t stop squirming, he had to think about this one. The usual tactics weren’t working, as he repositioned his hold on her she wrenched herself free with a strength that seemed to come out of nowhere._

_He wasn’t fast enough this time either, and she felt his nose give beneath her boot as the knife dragged clean through her eye._

_They both cried out in pain as they recoiled away from one another. The door to Lock n’ Load slammed open and Pronto said something along the lines of_  “Jesus fuck, what the hell?!” _as he broke into a jog toward the two of them._

_Rook’s cry of pain took a turn toward rage and she suddenly lunged at her attacker, but Pronto got ahold of her torso and pulled her to her feet._

_She elbowed his ribs, but he hooked his arms under her armpits and turned her away from the bloodied dirt with a groan of effort and plenty of expletives._

_“Get her the fuck back over here!” the slaver yelled, wiping blood off of his lip and leaning forward to get back on his feet. But he stilled as the cold barrel of a .44 pressed against the back of his head._

“Tsk _.” Eulogy sucked his teeth; he knew he had a real mess on his hands if he didn’t play this right. “Since when do we treat our lovely suppliers and buyers like this, Forty?”_

Eulogy wasn’t quite right about her, to be fair. He’d read meek vault girl, but the recent deeds of the young woman in front of him said otherwise. It had been a number of years since he'd heard of a woman like Rook, and the last allegedly had her heart ripped out. "but unless you're planning to offer your services as a slave catcher, I don't think we have much to talk about."

Forty shifted his weight between his feet anxiously, but his face was deadly calm. Charon kept his eyes on him all the way to the door.

"If you say so." She replied, turning around. "I'll make sure to drop by next time I'm in town, in case you change your mind." She added, looking back at him as she pushed the door open.

            The white crest on her armor seemed to reflect brightly even in the low light of the shop. "She's all good to go, Rook. I even gave it a little polish, just for you." He teased.

She tossed an extra handful caps on the table. "I’ll make sure to scuff it up more next time.”

Pronto smirked. “Whatever you say, chica.”

She stilled for a moment. Those five minutes in Eulogy’s pad had been the first time she’d seen Forty since their incident, though she wasn’t sure the reverse was true. The catalyst of her new life was just another night for the people of the wasteland. “I’m sorry for hitting you in the ribs so hard.”

Pronto had taken her to the back of the shop, ran her a bath, and made himself scarce. He tiptoed around her for a couple of days, made her a few meals, and kept her far away from who lurked just outside.

But she hadn’t reacted the way he thought she would. The fear in her eyes had gone. After those couple days, she thanked him with a chaste kiss and saw him semi-regularly for her repairs. She brought him back rifle after rifle, bullet after bullet, and bought Stimpack after Stimpack. They had a routine.

“What?” Pronto replied.

Charon glanced between them.

“That whole thing, with Forty. I’m sorry.” She repeated.

Pronto looked a tad shocked. “Oh, ah, don’t worry about it.”

She nodded.


	6. War Never Changes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rook decides to aid the Outcasts in return for a future favor, but Pre-War knowledge and technology open up a slew of possibilities.

 

_VI_

            It all felt so real. The mountain air, the snow beneath her feet, the weight of the knife in her hand.

She had picked up the Outcasts’s radio signal on a scavenging trip, and the Super Mutants were of little impedance. Defender Morill sent her down the chain of command, and she was prepositioned to help. She didn’t quite believe them when they told her about the simulation, in truth she was only there to make a few social connections. She’d seen the many Outcast patrols and knowing people in high places had saved her ass plenty of times already.

But there she was, in the simulation pod and, subsequently, in Anchorage, Alaska.

            Charon hated every single circumstance. In an underground bunker, surrounded by tentative acquaintances. Every bone in his body told him to get her out of there.

 

_“You guys don’t mind if he hangs around, right?” Rook asked as she stripped off her armor in exchange for the neural interface suit._

_Sibley rolled his eyes. “He’ll have eyes all over him, and if he tries something, I’ll pry open the pod and kill you myself.”_

_Rook was unfazed and simply shrugged, but Charon’s glare sent a slight but unwanted chill up the Defender’s spine. He didn’t falter, but the ghoul put him on edge._

_Rook looked to her companion. “Char, play nice. Sit and make some small talk if you have to, alright?”_

 

He looked around the room. He wanted to move. He wanted to case the area, to memorize exactly where every Outcast was. But Rook said sit and sit he would.

His leg was bouncing so rapidly that a slight but near-constant squeaking from the stool he was sitting on cut through the still air.

Olin sighed.

            The shots _whizzed_ through the air and ricocheted off of the railings on the mountain. She dropped and rolled behind a crate purely out of reflex, it was only when the wood around her splintered that she raised her gun and shot back. She was so awestruck that it was going to get her killed.

The air in her lungs was crisp, there was no dust in her eyes. It only took a quarter of the clip to take down her fifth Chinese soldier.

She couldn’t quite get over how beautiful the mountain was at first. She could barely believe she was seeing it with her own eyes. The snow tasted pure on her tongue. The wind carried a flurry of frost into every exposed bit of her flesh, but it took another few seconds before she would close her visor.

When she got inside, it smelled like the Vault. But the similarities ended there; Chinese bunkers didn’t have the same pattern as Vault-Tec. She found herself walking into the edges of corners and tripping over stairs, but her focus was still on the soldiers in front of her and the bullets in her gun.

She caught her breath sitting next to one of the health dispensers. She watched the bullet slide out of her forearm and dissolve in a blue haze like the corpses of the soldiers. Her wound closed without a scar and as she wiped away the blood it too faded out of existence.

Another new environment barely felt like a challenge anymore.

            The ghoul hadn’t moved. Hadn’t shifted his weight, hadn’t relaxed, hadn’t changed his pose, hadn’t even _turned his head_. She thought he was off-putting when he first ducked through the doorway but hearing nothing out of him but the sounds his chair made was making the hair on the back of her neck stand up. He just sat there, arms crossed, back to the wall, with the hallway on his left. Though, his eyes were moving; she could feel them on her back.

Whenever she turned around to answer an inquiry from the door, she could see Charon’s eyes gleam in the low light as they bored into her.

It had been six hours. The girl had passed the first phase of the simulation. It was somewhere near the time for evening chow.

Olin didn’t like having her back to him. Not liking ghouls was natural for her, the Brotherhood training still weighed on her mind.

 

_The projector clicked; the scribe’s pointer ticked against the concrete wall._

_“Enlarged canines, slightly more pointed incisors, and in some cases additional cusps on the premolars. These are the teeth of a predator, and these teeth grow in post-conversion after one of the human teeth is lost.” He said._

_The projector clicked. Several squires recoiled; a couple gagged._

_“Even non-feral ghouls can inflict serious bites. These are the result of a bar fight between a non-feral and a scavenger, as you can see the middle, ring, and pinkie fingers have been amputated at the first knuckle, there are numerous puncture wounds along the wrist, the extensor muscle on the forearm has been completely bisected, and lacerations consistent with being inflicted by the fingernails can be seen along the length of the upper arm area._

_Ghouls have preferred areas to focus on; the hands, face, neck, and shoulders, though the latter of those areas is more uncommon.”_

_As he spoke, he clicked through examples of each. Most of the head examples were missing their jaw, even more at least some teeth._

_“While feral ghoul bites that merely result in puncture wounds can be closed with a single Stimpack, they can often be fatal. Improper cleaning of the wound without alcohol or antibacterial soap prior to closing can result in cyst-like pockets of infected tissue forming under and/or around each closed puncture. These small localized infections can spread throughout the body, and sepsis can occur within days.”_

_The slides changed as he talked. Olin’s stomach turned as she read the words “Test Subject 01” written on the corner of each picture._

_“Non-feral ghouls do not tend to carry as harmful of bacteria, and the flora within their mouths closely mirrors that of humans like you or me. Though human bites are bacteria-ridden, the antibacterial properties of Stimpacks will clear the wound on their own most of the time.”_

_The slide clicked. She wasn’t quite prepared for what appeared._

_“Most of the time.”_

 

The air was stale. She was a bit out of it. She turned. “Mister Charon?”

His eyes flicked from her hands to her face. He said nothing.

She stood. “Do you want anything from the mess hall for dinner?”

“No.” He replied flatly.

Even with his lips having only parted for a moment she had seen just how sharp his teeth were.

            Rook looked up at the quartermaster. She saw his face change and quickly replied “Half Korean from my father’s side but all American on the inside. ”

He cracked a smile. “You must be Rook. Damn fine job on taking out those big guns, miss.”

“Thanks, speaking of big guns, give me the close assault package and whatever you’ve got in the back.” She said.

“Bold request, but I’ll give ya this Gauss rifle and some ammo. You know what's gonna take down those Commies better than me.” He replied with a dry laugh. “But I’ll bet ya anything ya face will be better than one of those brainwashed Soviet spy bodyguards.”

“A what?” She asked.

“They sign away their freedom with some kinda contract and need this weird sort of release word in order to be free. They’re barely human when still bound, you physically can’t torture even an _opinion_ out of 'em. It catches in their throats.” He explained as he put her equipment on the table.

“How do you figure out their release word?” She asked.

“It’s on their contract, I think. But those are hidden real good and are usually the first thing to be destroyed when a spy gets found out. Sometimes when they're freed they just go berserk on whatever or whoever's around 'em.” He sighed. “Poor bastards.”

Her stomach felt like it had been filled with the snow around them.


	7. Piss and Vinegar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rook has unfinished business in Megaton.

 

_VII_

 

            Rook was staring at the Chinese Stealth Armor she’d taken from the cache the Anchorage simulation had opened. She knew how well it worked. The stale fear she had felt when she turned in the direction of faint footsteps but saw no one traveled up her spine slightly.

The trench knife on her hip was freshly sharpened. The armor laid there, folded up in the footlocker in her room. She had been leaned against her wall like this for some time, and when she finally bent down, her back cracked softly. She kicked the footlocker and it swung closed. She didn't want her hands that close.

She found Charon where he usually was when they were home: sitting in the chair she’d moved so that it faced the door.

He’d initially taken to sitting on the edge of his bed, but she had a feeling he could benefit from some back support, so she put out the chair. 

“Here.” She said, holding out the thick maroon scarf she knew held heat.

On the way back from Bailey’s Crossroads she’d seen the snow settle on Charon’s head, and even though he didn’t flinch or brush any of it off, it bothered her to see his head bare in such weather.

He took it gently. “Thank you.”

“It should keep you warm, even out here.” She added.

He nodded once, placed it in his lap, and continued staring at the door.

            She glanced out the window, but it was so dark that the only thing she could see was her own reflection.

She had tried to sleep. But she couldn’t settle, she was thinking about what she had almost done a month and a half ago. Her many uneventful walks in and out of Megaton had done nothing to soften the smirk that adorned Moriarty’s face whenever he saw her. Fear had boiled in her gut when she thought about it. How close she’d come to sentencing Charon right back to where he was before she came along.

But if anything, time only deepened the bruises on Gob’s face and further unsteadied Nova’s limp. She had the means to do it in her hands. She had all of it planned out.

He wanted to force her hand. Cloud her with rage. Make her wrap herself right around his fingers with perfectly timed appearances and insults aimed at her but also no one in particular; but if anything, the time had made her head clearer.

The footlocker protested meekly as its centuries-old hinges were made to move.

The stealth armor fit perfectly. She pulled the hood over her head and it clicked into place under her chin. The warped glass only reflected furniture and disturbed air.

            It was quiet. Too quiet. He’d woken up late, but he hadn’t woken up late in fifteen years. The sun was up, but there were no heavy footsteps downstairs, no clinking glasses, he didn’t even hear the faint whistle the breeze made in the door when it was unlocked.

His bones creaked as he stood. His feet didn’t feel like his as he walked a different path that morning, one that didn’t end with him behind the bar.

Moriarty’s door was open, and Nova sat on his bed clutching a piece of paper. Her eyes didn’t stop moving, she kept rereading the perfect vault-dweller handwriting.

He coughed. She looked up at him, tears running down her face, and smiled. “Rook did it.” She said, holding open one of her hands to reveal a gold tooth both of them knew far too well. “She finally did it.”

His knees buckled, she rose to half catch him, and the two of them hit the floor together. They’d gone over all the ways they could’ve done it, but both of them knew Moriarty would always make them freeze in their tracks. They knew they didn’t have the nerve.

He hugged her back as they sobbed into one another. His split lip burst open, but the blood mixed with tears of joy and was lost in blissful laughter.

 

            _Colin is dead. I burned him in a barrel next to the Springvale Red Rocket. If any blood got on the floor and you notice it, you know how to get it off the wood. I wrote up a fake will, it’s under this note. Give it to Simms, I included a little bonus for him and the town, he won’t look too deep. What you two actually do with his stuff isn’t my business, but its more believable that Nova inherits the bar and the money._

_Burn this note._

_\- R_

            Rook hadn’t stopped smiling for two weeks. She was right, Simms didn’t even investigate. Nova offered Gob the bar, but Rook offered him a place she knew he wouldn’t refuse. A place he was welcomed into with open arms.

Underworld. The Ninth Circle. Carol hugged Rook harder than either of them thought was possible.

Gob poured her another free nuka-whiskey. She was no longer allowed to pay for any of her drinks in his bar, but she was picking up the tab for Winthrop, who was sat next to her. She lent him her ear and, occasionally, vault-style advice on how to solve a couple of his maintenance conundrums.

Gob had done a lot of thinking, but the motions of bar work didn’t make him feel bitter. He was good at what he did, and the ghouls around him being pleasantly surprised at his skill only made him prouder.

Charon leaned against the wall in his familiar spot. For the first time, he felt comfortable there.

            The moon was bright but only reflected a dead-still version of the mall. The reflections of super mutant eyes were absent from the trenches, and Gob enjoyed the silence.

He’d settled in during the few days she’d been gone. Though, when Rook dropped in that afternoon, she brought a case of expensive liquor from Rivet City. She left Charon at Carol’s, and they sat alone on the steps to the Museum of History drinking a fancy bottle of whiskey.

She didn’t say much, but neither did he.

He hadn’t stayed one extra day in Megaton, as soon as Rook brought up the idea of a bar in Underworld, they were off.

He and Nova weren’t anything he wanted to dwell on. When he looked at her, all he could see was the hell they’d been in together. She kept the bar, tracked down and hired Silver, and that was all he really cared to know about.

Rook handed him the flask-shaped bottle. It tasted a bit more floral than what he was usually presented with, but when he looked at the label it was damaged beyond anything but “whis".

"How did you do it." He asked, his throat a bit dry.

She didn’t turn to look at him. “Paradise necktie.”

He nodded, took another drink, and handed her back the alcohol. “Why for us?”

She shrugged. “A kindness for a kindness, I guess.”

He scoffed. “A ten-cap drink discount in exchange for a hit?”

A cold but gentle wind blew loose snow at them. “Maybe I have a soft spot for ghouls.”

He smiled. “You’re a good kid. You find your dad yet?”

She shook her head and drank again. “I haven’t really been looking.”

“Well, he was nice to me too. I hope you find him in good health.” Gob said.

She passed the bottle and thanked him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BONUS SCENE II:  
> “Gob?” Winthrop asked. He’d stood in the doorway of the Ninth Circle for a good five minutes, waiting for its new owner to look up at him. He’d knocked as he first entered, but the way Gob stood, almost transfixed on something in his palm, made him freeze.
> 
> The younger ghoul flinched, and his fist closed around a particular gold tooth. “Yeah?”
> 
> Winthrop looked him up and down. “That mean something to you?” he asked, staring at Gob’s closed hand.
> 
> He nodded.
> 
> “It as small as I think it is?”
> 
> He nodded again.
> 
> Winthrop held out his hand and Gob gently gave him the tooth.
> 
> As the handyman gently bored a hole through it, he felt slightly sick. Every ghoul worth their salt knew why Gob hadn’t been home for the last decade, except Carol.
> 
> That was the first thing Winthrop told Rook when she walked through the door by Quinn’s side. He listened to the radio as avidly as anyone, and Three Dog said she came from a vault somewhere near Megaton. He’d pulled the girl aside and made sure that she knew not to tell Carol anything.
> 
> He told Gob why she didn’t know. The boy was thankful, but Winthrop had simply replied, “I should kick your ass for showing up with that black eye, but I’m as glad as her that you’re back.”
> 
> When the small hole was done, he strung a line through it, tied it with precision neither of them expected from his hands and gave it to Gob. “Keeping it around until it makes you sick, eh?”
> 
> The younger ghoul put on the necklace but stuffed its “pendant” under his shirt. “For right now it just reminds me that only one of us survived.” He replied with a soft smile. “Anyway,” he said, placing both his palms on the oak bar, “what did you drop by for?”


	8. Big Town

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rook worries about the Little Lamplight kids, but finds a troop of young adults that are far worse off.

 

_VIII_

 

            “You again? I told you to get lost!” The boy yelled sarcastically.

“Good morning, MacCready.” Rook replied as she pulled her scarf down from her mouth.

The gate slowly creaked open, as its outer side had developed a thin layer of frost. Fires burned in every corner of the cave, and its walls were still freezing to the touch.

The worst of winter was settling in, and Little Lamplight was the only place Rook would've left Megaton for.

“So,” the mayor said, descending the stairs, “Why are you here?”

Rook pointed a thumb at Charon.

A potato sack of miscellaneous foodstuffs sat on the ghoul’s right shoulder. Luckily for the duo, it was far too cold for anyone to pester them, so it hadn’t touched the ground since they left Megaton.

“Am I supposed to be able to see through bags?” The mayor quipped.

“Some pre-war food, nonperishables, some cans of good water. I gathered it up for you guys, it’s way too cold for you kids to be scavenging.”

MacCready crossed his arms. “Listen lady, I know you’re kinda new around here, but we’ve been pulling our own weight for a long time, and we’ll do the same once something out there puts you down. We don’t need your charity.”

The boy was proud, she knew that. Rook glanced around at the other children that had gathered at the sound of the door opening. They certainly looked well-fed, and all had at least some sort of jacket.

“Fair enough,” Rook replied. “I guess I can run it somewhere where they’ll be willing to pay.” She added with a shrug as she turned to leave.

“Wait,” a familiar girlish voice echoed across the cave. “If you want to give it away, go to Big Town.”

MacCready scoffed. “Lucy, those Mungos are probably living it up more than we are,” he turned to Rook, “sell it to ‘em.”

Rook looked from the boy to the doctor, and the surprise on the girl’s face told the vault dweller all she needed to know. “Where is Big Town?”

MacCready shrugged. “Somewhere to the east, if you walk in a straight line, you’ll probably make it there. We’re not allowed to go there until we’re Mungos ourselves, but I’m sure they’ll let your old ass in.”

Rook glanced at Lucy again. The girl nodded, and Rook pulled her scarf back up.

            When the wasteland’s dust froze, it had a tendency to _crunch_ under whatever walked on it, and the thin layer that settled into the rough surface of the road was no exception.

The silence was all that filled the air around them. Rook finally understood why “the dead of winter” was a saying.

As the duo left Little Lamplight, she had taken a half-empty pack of gum from their haul. Every movement she made was mechanical, and her mind was far away from both her footsteps and slow chewing.

Ice and powdery snow had found its way into all its old haunts, the stone and concrete it slowly forced apart year after year found itself in an old battle. But one weathered feature of the wasteland had a new scarf, and what remained of his nose was warm.

Unlike his employer, Charon’s mind was racing. He hated not having his hands free, and the silence put him on edge. This was a busy time of year for ghouls; humans had tucked themselves away and the wasteland was ripe for scavenging. Ahzrukhal occasionally loaned him out to Quinn in the winter, but Quinn absolutely hated roads. He hated how open they were, and always knew a way lined with rocks to duck behind.

Not the vault dweller, though. But soon the open road came upon a cluster of dilapidated houses, and then a barricade. There was no noise beyond it, and the area seemed a far cry from what MacCready described.

They followed the wall until they came upon the entrance to Big Town.

Charon hadn’t said anything, but even he already knew how much of a lost cause the place was.

Rook didn't and froze in her tracks. The place was barren, a section of street surrounded by a haphazard wall. Burn barrels were surrounded by gaunt-looking people, trying to warm themselves despite not being dressed properly at all.

“Hey! Who are you?” The sentry called out to them.

Rook paused for a moment before she turned to look at him. “We’re help. What do you need?”

            _Click. Click._

Her gun was empty. She didn’t have time to swear before the Super mutant swung the sledgehammer at her head from the left.

She ducked and slid between the mutant’s legs, hitting the back of its left knee with the butt of her shotgun. The mutant faltered, and she jumped onto its shoulders as she dropped her gun and switched to her knife.

Charon slammed the barrel of his gun into his respective mutant’s forehead and fired two rounds. He turned back to where Rook was, to find her grappling with a mutant as she attempted to slit its throat while draped over its back.

Her knife sank into the side of its neck and she began to pull across, but the blade caught bone and the mutant grabbed her arm before ripping her off to the side.

Rook slammed against the wall, and her overcoat flew over her shoulders, obscuring her face as she fell down the wall horizontally. The wind had been knocked out of her, and Charon jumped in front of her, one of his boots missed her hand by a couple of inches.

She scrambled to find her legs, Charon shot the mutant in the face and took the sledge to the ribs. The ghoul faltered but stayed on his feet and took advantage of the mutant’s temporary blindness to deliver a final shot to its neck, severing its head.

As it fell to the side, he turned back to Rook to find her on her knees, coat back over her shoulders, digging through her pocket for lockpicks. 

He held out a hand, and she took it.

“Go look for more, I’ve got the door.” Rook said, picking up and reloading her shotgun.

“Quick! Unlock the door!” Red said, her voice quavering.

Rook quickly switched gears and knelt in front of the lock. Her head spun, she broke her bobby pin and swore under her breath as Charon fired off rounds at an approaching centaur.

She bent a pin with her teeth and tried to pick the lock while her vision continued to swoon. She’d been through worse, but this was approaching the number two spot.

She heard Charon grunt as he beat the Centaur with the butt of his gun.

The bobby pin bent slightly.

Wet flesh hit the floor. Charon fired off another round.

The lock _clicked_ open and she felt air finally leave her burning lungs.

She saw sparks as she stood up and pulled the door open while Red shakily moved out.

The doctor was the only survivor. By the time they’d made it to the basement, Shorty had been halved. His legs sat in a soup pot on the kitchen floor.

Rook stayed moving, her brain was slowly coming back to Earth.

Charon rolled a grenade back into the building as they fled through a side door.

The frigid air brought back some of Rook’s senses, but the explosion clouded her vision. They kept moving, and she didn't stop until she was back in Big Town.

            She stared at Timebomb helplessly from her own mattress on the floor. Her expedition had earned her one hell of a concussion, and Charon two fractured ribs. At mid-range, the two of them had taken on packs of mutants with ease. Everything in the wasteland was harder close quarters.

Charon was sat in a chair near her feet. He watched Red closely as she worked.

“What’s wrong with him?” Rook asked.

Red shrugged half-heartedly. “What isn’t? He’s full of holes and so is his brain, but that’s nothing new.” She added with a slight smile that disappeared as quickly as her breath.

The fire burning on a chunk of concrete in the other room did little for them.

Rook propped herself up on her elbows, Charon turned his body toward her.

She held a hand out to him. He pulled her to her feet reluctantly.

Red held out her hands, but before she could tell Rook to lie back down, the girl peered at Timebomb’s wounds.

Stimpacks had left him crosshatched with new scars, but she’d seen the signs of mismatched closings before.

“Open him.” She rasped.

            Charon hated teaching. But Rook had kept going after dictating each step of Timebomb’s surgery.

He had a feeling that she knew if she went to bed she wouldn’t be back up for a while.

The men and women of Big Town were hitting shots, and half the food she and the ghoul had brought was already gone.

When Dusty ran back to where they were to announce the mutants had come, Charon placed a hand on her back and steered her through a door that he then kicked a cinderblock in front of. She didn’t protest, but he heard glass break and the barrel of her sniper rifle followed.

            They set out for Little Lamplight with plenty of sunlight left, and Charon slowly watched Rook’s movements sway. She kept walking, but as they approached the end of the journey, he scooped her up in his arms and carried her as she drifted off to sleep.

It was times like these that she reminded him of something. Her face was a mystery, but something about carrying his employer made him see shimmers of a place lost to time. A life he no longer knew anything about. A warm body he couldn’t put a face or a name to but could remember the feeling of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BONUS SCENE III:  
>             Charon adjusted MacCready’s shoulders as the boy stared through the scope of his hunting rifle. Winter was the perfect time to practice aiming, for him anyway. Setting up the large bottles was less dangerous, and less dust made things easier.
> 
> He had been doing just that with a hunting rifle that seemed a bit big for him when the ghoul appeared. When the boy turned to yell at whoever had disturbed him, the curse died in his throat at the sight of the ghoul. Without his master, no less.
> 
> “Is Rook okay?” MacCready asked.
> 
> Charon nodded stiffly.
> 
> The evening before, MacCready had watched Rook wake up in the ghoul’s arms and talk to Lucy on their way toward the clinic. She had yelled hello to the mayor, which he scoffed back at to hide his concern.
> 
> Charon continued to gently move the boy’s arms and repositioned the gun in them. They worked like that, wordlessly, until MacCready was barely missing his shots. Charon stood back as he used the last of his surplus ammo.
> 
> MacCready’s shoulders relaxed as he exhaled and turned back to the ghoul. Charon was a statue, as he had been the entire time.
> 
> Winter wind blew past them, the only thing that moved was the ghoul’s scarf.
> 
> MacCready looked up at his harsh blue eyes and swallowed. Charon watched the boy steel himself.
> 
> The ghoul’s arms unfolded, and a gloved hand gently gave the boy’s head a reassuring pat.
> 
> MacCready didn’t flinch, but felt his eyes widen and face redden.
> 
> “Well done.” Charon rasped, before gently pulling away and returning to his employer’s bedside as casually as he had left it.
> 
> MacCready scoffed as he tried to will away the redness in his face. He turned back toward the cold wind blowing into the cave.


	9. Bandage Tapes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rook turns her attention to searching for James.

 

_IX_

 

            Rook squinted in the sunlight outside the cavern. She’d spent a day there, at Lucy’s request. She fit in well with the orphans, but all that time around them with a swimming head had set her to thinking.

The ground was still frozen solid. With some luck, they could be in D.C. by noon. She hadn’t been talkative since they left Little Lamplight. They skipped roads and cut across frozen hills until they stood on a ridge overlooking the city.

They hadn’t been back since their last visit to Underworld.

She took a moment and stared at something Charon couldn’t pick out. In the direction of Rivet City, but not quite.

            He was 224 years old and at a dead sprint after a 19-year-old girl who hadn’t even told him why they were where there.

The Jefferson Memorial smelled like mutant. It had smelled like mutant from twenty yards away. Charon had told her the moment they stepped foot inside, “It smells like super mutants here.”

But she pressed onward.

They made their way into a basement medical room, Rook sifted through papers and drawers while Charon did five-point room scans. She picked up something.

It was silent for a while, they padded through hallways and slowly opened doors until they found themselves in the rotunda. Charon walked the perimeter as Rook dug around at the controls.

They made their way into the rotunda, where the statue of Thomas Jefferson was engulfed by irradiated water. Charon silently did a lap around while she looked around the buttons and levers, but just as he looked up at her a voice, barely humanoid, echoed around the silent chamber: “ _What? I hear somethin'.”_

Rook snapped to attention, looked down at her companion, and the two of them unholstered their weapons and ducked down. But Rook took out her sidearm instead of her shotgun. There was something already in her left hand.

The Super mutants blocked their only exit, but the two of them had a few seconds before they made their way past the sections of wall blocking their view.

They’d fought mutants in close quarters before. Hell, the first job they ever did together was clearing out the Statesman Hotel. But there was a difference between the few mutants per floor and the five already in front of them.

Charon didn’t wait for her word. He rolled a grenade across the floor, and the two of them made a dash for the exit as soon as it went off in the crowd. Charon led the way, he stepped on the back of what had once been the closest mutant to the blast and felled the next nearest with a shell to the head as he shoved another aside.

The mutants had scattered somewhat in the confusion, and the ghoul’s well-aimed shot had provided a perfect path for Rook, who was hot on his heels.

They made it through the door and continued their sprint as the other mutants turned and figured out that they were there.

Charon heard bullets follow them, but he didn’t have to tell Rook to strafe.

They practically slid around the corner, and the yells of mutants further within the memorial called out in curiosity.

Charon slowed to let Rook overtake him and threw a final grenade backward as they passed through the open door into the winter day. He kicked the rock they'd propped the door open with.

Rook kept running. They continued on, over the bridge back to Anacostia, and took cover behind a long-dead car.

Their breathing filled the silence between them, and only then did Charon see the holotapes clutched to her chest.

            The water swirling down the shower drain was tinged pink with blood as Charon washed it from his face. The water was irradiated. He felt it healing the small shrapnel cuts on his face.

He could hear sections of the holotapes through the bathroom door. They were faint, and he doubted a normal human would’ve picked them up amid the din of water hitting steel.

She’d visited Dr. Li after they returned to Rivet City. Li had given her more tapes.

He listened despite the fact that she’d waited for him to shower so he wouldn’t be able to.

_“…the Brotherhood soldiers know it. Our relationship with the Brotherhood is straining…They're questioning whether their involvement in our project is worth the trouble it's causing them.”_

Charon never got along with the Brotherhood. He’d run black box packages to the Citadel door in the dead of night, Ahzrukhal’s reach was as encompassing as his hands were bloody. Charon never learned what was in those boxes, never cared to. To him, the Brotherhood was just another organization serving its own needs.

_“…I first learned of Braun's involvement in Vault-Tec's social preservation program, and his work on something called GECK, the Garden of Eden Creation Kit…”_

The mention of the GECK made Charon’s movement still. He’d heard mention of it somewhere before, on a certain pitch-black night in the corner of a certain bar. He never saw the face of the man quietly talking to his former boss, but he remembered the way Ahzrukhal’s face turned and the names he’d called the man when he told Charon to take him out.

Charon had only stood up when he briskly left of his own accord.

_“I'm off to Vault 112 to search for anything of Braun's that might…west of someplace called "Evergreen Mills," and it's well hidden in…But I'll find it…”_

Charon, like any other wastelander worth their salt, knew to stay the fuck away from Evergreen Mills. He hoped whoever recorded the holotapes knew the same.

He turned off the water.


	10. Smith Casey's Garage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rook finds what she's looking for.

 

_X_

 

            The gas station hadn’t seemed like much, but Rook was intent on searching every inch of it.

Charon knew why they were there but kept that to himself. He was used to knowing things his bosses didn’t think he did.

Despite the mole rats inside having already been dealt with, Charon could still hear claws scraping against metal. He slammed his boot into the garage floor.

Rook jumped a bit and looked back at him.

“Hollow.” He replied and began clearing off shelves to look for a wall switch.

Rook shoved paint cans off of a shelf, and behind them, a switch glowed back at her.

“Move back.” She said as she flicked it.

Charon leveled his gun at the opening and shot a mole rat as it scampered away from the dim light.

They stepped down into the cavern, it smelled like dust and rusting metal. 

There were boot prints in the dirt and a couple of old mole rat corpses. Rook recognized the treads of Vault-Tec boots, and the 10mm shell casings left little doubt in her mind.

They came to the controls, and Charon watched closely as plugged her Pip-Boy into the console. She hit a few more buttons and the screeching door seemed to startle her.

She drew her weapon, and they continued inside.

            Rook’s legs shook as she stood on them in front of the lounger. She hadn’t been in the simulation that long, but she wasn’t sure her shakes were all nerves.

“That’s my clever girl, always finding a way arou—” She interrupted him with a punch to his jaw.

James staggered backward; Charon leaped up from his seat, but Rook signaled him with her fist. He too froze.

“What the _hell_ was that for?” James asked as he teetered back into balance.

“How could you _leave me?!”_ Rook yelled at him.

Silence followed. She saw his eyes linger on her missing one and watched the realization set into his face.

“What happened to y—“The Overseer killed Jonas! I was next, they came after me!” She continued. She gesticulated with her hands, but Charon heeded his earlier hand signal. “Because they thought I was in on it with you, they were going to _kill_ me!”

Her tears spilled over now. She held back the sobs, but the tears came freely, the bottom of her eyepatch darkened.

“I had to kill them. I had _to kill_ people we _knew_ , Dad. And then, I had to wander all over this fucking wasteland to try and find you and you’ve been holed up in a fucking comfy chair because you’re on a quest for what, a _myth?!”_ She said.

James was speechless. Words started and died in his mouth for a few moments, and Rook sniffled.

“Why didn’t you tell me _ANYTHING?!”_ She screamed.

Charon was equally as surprised. He had never heard Rook speak with such desperation and had never even seen her come close to crying.

Her voice echoed through the empty halls of the vault. James looked at her alone, he hadn’t even noticed the ghoul yet. His hand still rested against his bruising face. He still couldn’t find words.

“It’s been four months, Dad.” She said. She was quieter now; the betrayal left her face.

He stepped backward and braced himself against the pod. “You’ve been out here for four months?”

She nodded and crossed her arms. Tears still dripped from her chin.

She was unlike what he remembered. The Rook he left in the vault hadn’t changed since she was sixteen. But he knew how she had survived.

James was shutting down, almost. He took a sharp breath, and asked: “Do you know where Rivet City is?”

            James hadn’t been dressed for winter at all. She found thicker clothes in one of the vault’s closets and gave him her scarf.

They followed him to Rivet City but didn’t follow him to Dr. Li’s lab. Rook still wanted answers. He avoided giving them in Vault 112 and didn’t bring it up again. She had more than just why he had left her; she’d listened to the tapes about Project Purity.

But she left him to his work.

 They were in their hotel room again. Charon sat in a chair while she laid on the bed staring out the small porthole window. He was sharpening their knives.

She looked down at the bank of the river and watched the lightly foamed water gently move against the sand and rocks.

If it was all purified, the people of D.C. had a better chance against mutants. No radiation meant less strength and healing for them and all sorts of other Wasteland creatures.

But what about the ghouls of Underworld?

            “Would a lack of irradiated water harm ghouls?” Rook asked.

Doctor Barrows looked her up and down. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“What if the Potomac was purified?”

Nurse Graves stilled at her computer. Barrow’s eyebrows raised for a second. He glanced at Charon. The larger ghoul stared back at him.

“That could be a bit of an issue, I suppose. But we have our own living sources of radiation,” he gestured to the Glowing Ones through the window, “so keeping ourselves from deteriorating too far would be possible.” Barrows said.

Radiation kept ghouls “dry”. If a ghoul were to go for too long without any of it, they would slowly succumb to their bodies. Organs would take on water, membranes holding muscle together would begin to thin out and disintegrate, leading to more miasma and a fresher corpselike appearance.

However, too much radiation easily led to a ghoul going feral. Especially when it came to older ghouls.

“I thought the Brotherhood abandoned that project.” Graves said from her chair, turning to join the conversation.

“They did. The scientists working on it went to Rivet City.” Barrows answered. “If what I hear on the radio is correct, then you’re the daughter of its lead scientist.”

Rook nodded. “Yes.”

“I didn’t know he had returned to the project, though I wouldn’t get my hopes up. Rumor has it he used his last chip with the Brotherhood years ago.” Barrows said.

“He’s in Rivet City now. Talking to Dr. Li and all of them. I don’t know how it went.” She said.

“Well, if you’re worried about it succeeding then you must have faith in him.” He said. “Truth be told, I’m more worried about what happens to us when the Brotherhood gets a better hold on D.C. We don’t have anyone close to them in our corner, except you.”

Rook hadn’t planned on getting involved, but she had met that train of thought long before she walked into the Mall.

“I’ll do what I can.” She promised.


End file.
